


Welcome to My Nightmare

by iloveyoudie



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV), Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/M, Ghosts, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 13:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: No matter what you subscribed to, there was one undeniable fact: Anything that was born would eventually die and they would only live on in hearts and minds.Except, of course, for the times when things died… and stuck around.Which was how Detective Sergeant Robert Lewis found himself bound to the ghost of his freshly deceased governor, the ever ornery DCI Morse.





	1. the return

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Fright Fest 2018!   
> My prompt was Welcome to My Nightmare by Alice Cooper... which has nothing to do with the fic at all. But I have slipped the title in as a line of dialogue somewhere. ;D
> 
> Thanks to all my morseverse discord friends for listening to me bellyache about, take on several other writing projects in the middle of it, and letting me spam them with snippets.

When a living thing died, when it passed on, when it slipped from the mortal coil, there was usually cremation or burial or whatever the culture dictated and it was believed that their energy dispersed into the vastness of the universe or back into the grand cycle of life or any other variety of things. No matter what you subscribed to, there was one undeniable fact: Anything that was born would eventually die and they would only live on in the hearts and minds of those left behind.

Except, of course, for the times when things died… and stuck around. 

In some cases those who had died didn't actually disappear and almost everyone knew someone, or had at some point in their life, been bound to a lingering spirit. It was a simple fact that had never been fully explained (though there were plenty of theories and study on the subject). A spirit would bind to the person they were closest to in life (or the next best) with the understanding that there was some matter between them unsettled. When this business was concluded, they would simply disappear. The trouble was that both the living and the deceased had no idea what that unresolved issue actually was. 

It was a double edged sword to have your loved one (or not so loved one) stay with you after they'd died. On one hand you had more time with them, perhaps the rest of your life if things never reached a satisfactory conclusion, but you also lived with the knowledge that they had died with something missing between you, something left lacking or unfinished. 

Which was how Detective Sergeant Robert Lewis found himself bound to the ghost of his freshly deceased governor, the ever ornery DCI Morse. 

There had been a gathering at The White Horse about a week after the detective's affairs had been put in order. More people than Robbie could have imagined had shown up to lift a glass to the old detective, people he'd never even heard of, and teary-eyed and a bit moved from their stories, he'd been about to raise a glass of his own. Himself's voice boomed from barside where Morse simply _appeared_ beside a very blanched Superintendent Strange. His shade stood with its hands stuffed into the pockets of an indiscernible shimmer of suit, not looking any older than he'd been ten years prior, and he bellowed, "I said no funeral!" 

Leave it to Morse to ruin his own party. 

"He was going to haunt you regardless," Val teased. She had been as understanding as she could considering that it was something completely out of both of their control. She'd had her father's spirit for about a year when they first got married and they both reckoned it would be stranger to have Morse gone, than it would be to host his spirit. 

"I'm as surprised as you are, Lewis," Morse had said to him near the start, puffing in that familiar self-important way, "I know I didn't have all my ducks _quite_ in a row but unfinished business?" He squinted and pursed his lips as if even he didn't quite believe it, despite the obvious evidence, "I suppose even dying couldn't keep me away from a puzzle." 

"What's it like then, sir? Dying, I mean," Lewis had asked on his way in to work that first day back. He was waiting to hear about his Inspector's results and while Morse hadn't mastered being a spirit quite yet, he'd figured out the disappearing and reappearing bits enough to give Robbie some measure of peace and normality when it came to the home front. He was also rather handy at helping the kids with their school work. Morse was just as evasive about the mechanics of being dead as he'd ever been about anything. 

"None of this 'Sir' stuff Lewis, it's just Morse now. And I honestly couldn't say. One minute I was in the bed at the Radcliffe with Strange - _dying_ you know - and the next you're all toasting me like some bloody war hero. Meanwhile I just _know_ that I'm dead and I'm fine with it. Of course, then I remembered that I _specifically_ asked for no fuss to be made," Morse sat in the passenger seat of the car as if he weren't dead at all, as if Lewis had picked him up from home for the usual Monday in, and had insisted before they pulled away that Berlioz be put on the radio. 

"Well that's rather anticlimactic, isn't it?" Lewis muttered, "No pearly gates or reunion with all your loved ones?" 

"Well I'm here, aren't I, Lewis?" 

When Robbie and Morse arrived at work Chief Superintendent Strange seemed much more together than he'd been at the pub at Morse's reappearance. Robbie had the feeling the Chief had thought himself free of Morse when they'd gotten to the point of a memoriam, but certainly fate had other plans. This would mark the first time that Robbie saw Morse's shade looking suddenly young, some sort of uncontrollable reaction to his long time friend, and there was fond surprise in the Chief's smile for a fleeting second. 

"Well boys, here we are again," Strange leaned forward with this fingers laced together on the desktop, "There are, of course, procedures for this sort of thing. Happens all the time, you know, with partners. Sometimes it's just as simple as the living party finding a new partner worthy enough to fill the role of the deceased." 

Lewis glanced at Morse and he was back to looking older, though he had that bored distracted look he often got when Strange spoke to him. His lazy blue eyes were set on a spot high on the nearby wall instead of on the man himself. 

"So I'll give it to you straight. Morse, you're dead, matey." 

"Yes, Jim. Thanks," He'd apparently abandoned respectful titles for the man since his demise. 

"And you know all that it entails. You are no longer employed by the Thames Valley Police but you are still bound to cooperation and confidentiality, living or dead, as stated in your original contract. You are also unable to contribute to casework due to the undefinable nature of your existence, so you'd best learn to keep your mouth shut when it comes to Lewis's investigations. I'd hate to see a good result thrown out in court because you just can't stop," Strange tapped his hands, at a loss, "being you." 

"I know the bloody rules," Morse rolled his eyes. 

"Now Robbie," As Strange continued, Lewis realized he'd once more lapsed into deference in the presence of both men, alive or otherwise. Claiming his independence from Morse's reputation would certainly be harder now that the man's soul was lingering, "If he gives you any problems, and I know it will be odd, knowing he's there and not utilizing him, a temptation… Let's just- Well, we don't want people thinking you can't solve cases of your own merit." 

Morse groaned next to him in the chair. 

"You shouldn't let him influence you unduly, you hear me?" 

"Yessir," Lewis sat up straighter. 

"Because you will be getting your own Sergeant later this week," Strange paused and thrust out a hand for a hearty shake, "Congratulations Detective Inspector Lewis." 


	2. some things never change

"A partner, Lewis," Morse said again, "That's why I'm here. You need a partner. I know it in my bones." 

"Y'aven't got bones, sir," Lewis leaned back in the corner of the pub and nursed a Newcastle. He reckoned he deserved it after his day and Morse's prattling on. A year on and the old detective had at least learned a bit more about what it meant to be a spirit. He could now relegate himself to a voice in Robbie's head if need be, or banish himself entirely for periods of time, but Lewis hated feeling like a nutter when he was alone so to keep him from talking to himself Morse shimmered in next to him at the table. What he hadn't learned, and maybe never would, was to keep his opinions to himself. It was becoming a problem, "Besides, ya've driven off any partner I take half a shine to." 

"They were rubbish, Robbie!" Morse flipped his hands expressively. His appearance had settled in somewhere at his mid 40's these days. He was thinner and with much more hair than Robbie had remembered. Handsome if he had to say, but once Morse had appeared with a mustache and it had given him nightmares. Morse had also taken to calling him Robbie often enough that he'd gotten used to it. There were some things different about the old sod now that he was dead, while he hadn't lost his bite or his bark, he'd certainly lost some of his edges once he'd realized most of his earthly worries and depressions were now completely irrelevant. 

"And ya know y'aren't supposed to interfere with work either!" Robbie's voice rose to counter the other's outburst. Morse wasn't wrong, they had been rubbish young coppers, but that's what you got when you were the lowest Inspector on the totem pole. Lewis was sure he could have given at least one of them a bit of polish before sending them on their way. The fact of the matter was that finding a partner wasn't as simple as working with Inspector Lewis, along with it came Inspector Morse and dead or not, he had a reputation. He was a legend. But he had to put his foot down, "Any of your little comments could get my cases reviewed if anyone cared enough to complain! How am I supposed to be taken seriously if you can't leave me to do me own job?!" 

"Alright alright, Lewis," Morse sunk into a slouch and rubbed his neck, "I won't say two words to the next one. Partner or case. I promise. I'll let you have it your way. I'll be out of sight and out of mind." 

"I'll believe it when I see it," Lewis muttered and sipped his ale again. 

"It could be a case you know," The spectre of Morse looked up hopefully, "A cold case. My old governor Thursday, got bound to me when he went. Turned out I had a gambling and prostitution racket to bring down, lingering from his London days," Morse smiled, " _'Be still, my soul, be still;'_ Maybe you'll bring down the Lodge for me finally, Lewis." 

That, at least, got a laugh. 

Morse had been as good as his word though and when Lewis began working with Ali McClennan the next week, the skies were free and clear of the invasive spectre. 

"She fancies him," Morse had said at dinner one night. He often sat in on their family meals. He didn't eat but Val insisted he join instead of having him piggyback in Robbie's mind or haunting about the house playing opera like a proper ghost. They already had double the number of poetry books and records lying about just from the old man's estate and he wasn't shy about enjoying his old belongings. With the kids always out with activities or friends, it was often just the three of them. 

Robbie remembered that Morse had always fought staying for meals while he had been alive but on those occasions he did agree, or Val worked some motherly guilt on him, Morse seemed to thrive at a noisy family table. For all his usual brusque demeanour, at a sit down dinner he was all ' _yes, please'_ and ' _thank you'_ and ' _Mrs. Lewis'_ in generous amounts. No matter how many times she told him to call her Val, it was always 'Mrs. Lewis' and in turn, he became 'Mr. Morse' and Robbie knew, and loved, that she was giving the old man the rub. He often wondered if this all was something Morse had missed, bickering kids and fussing mums and football talking dads. Perhaps not from his own family, but Lewis liked to hope that somewhere along the line someone had taken him in and offered him a welcome and made him have a bite to eat and rest for a while. 

"You can't really blame her can you, Mr. Morse? Our Robbie is a charmer," Val smiled. 

"No offense to your tastes, Mrs. Lewis, but Robbie has all the sexual appeal of a wet paper bag." 

Robbie had almost choked on his pot roast. 

"Val, Morse's type always had a bit more murderous intent than the likes of me," Robbie smirked, remembering how many of his old governor's amorous advances fell upon women much too involved in their cases. 

"Mystery, Lewis. I prefer the term 'air of mystery'." 

Val poured herself another glass of wine. Her plate was already clean and her husband was working on his seconds, "You did say the last young man had a crush on him too though. I didn't realize you were so open minded about those sorts of things." 

Robbie kept his head down. When Morse had proclaimed that the previous sergeant, a young lad of only about 23, had made moon-eyes at him, he hadn't know what to think. Morse wasn't one to hide his opinions but he'd never been so openly… open before. Robbie, for his part, wouldn't have realized if you'd hit him with a brick. He never did. 

"Death has a way of putting things into perspective," Morse said then, giving Val a wan smile, and Robbie remembered that look very vividly from when the man was alive. He was never truly open about his feelings but there were times, and expressions, that to Robbie were open and sad and full of unspoken meaning. 

Several days after Dr. Debryn had died Morse showed up to work with shade of the pathologist tagging along. He was younger than he'd ever imagined such an old man could have been but not any less intelligent, demanding or prickly. He'd practically driven off their new pathologist in his insistence that Dr. Hobson should have filled his vacant position. Robbie knew both Morse and Debryn had been close friends for a long time, and were both the type of men who kept work and social lives very distinctly separate when they could, but he hadn't realized they had been _that_ close. After about a month, Morse had gone home for the night and when he'd come back the next morning, the doctor was gone. Morse had sported this same look then. A quiet pained politeness. Robbie had always wondered a bit at what had passed between them, because it was only then that had Morse finally begun to mourn his old friend. 

Robbie watched the shade of his old governor across the table and remembered his last days, "Perspective on the important things, sir? Life and death. Regret?" 

Morse smiled at that, "Just like Wagner." 


	3. blame

When Val had been killed, Lewis had blamed Morse.

He'd never said it out loud, certainly not in front of his kids, and there was hardly time for blame throwing when your children had lost their mother. Even when the thought flitted through his mind, he'd banished it knowing how unfair it was. But something took root and in his heart Robbie needed somewhere to place blame so Morse became the target.

Morse should have known.

Morse was supposed to help.

Morse was supposed to make a difference somehow but had he?

He was already bound to one spirit, which meant he couldn't be bound to Val....

For Robbie to even hope that Val would come back- for him to wish disquiet on her soul- even the idea of that, was Morse's fault.

The inevitable day came when he was alone in the house. After arrangements and funerals and the required amount of lingering family time. After Ken was off to find himself in Australia and Lyn was back up north. After the sympathy casseroles were nothing but a pile of dishwashing and the flowers were naught but twigs and dried petals. Robbie sat on the sofa and looked around at it all, a ruin, and when he felt the warm pressure of Morse's spirit beside him, silent and once more looking like an old sad sod, he put his head in his hands and he finally wept.

He fled the house, the house that felt like an echoing tomb, he blindly wandered (hopelessly drunk) and when his feet stopped he found himself on Morse's old doorstep. He angrily shamed himself away from the house, now inhabited by someone else, and realized he may have been mourning for more than his wife. Robbie finally took himself to an indistinct storage unit, opened the door, whipped back the dust cover and sat himself inside the Jag. It hadn't been sold yet. There had been strict instructions left about it's ownership and for now, it was actually his.

"Maybe we should go for a drive," Morse barely spoke to him in these difficult days, even when he made his presence known. Robbie found his prattling unacceptable. Found his ideas ludicrous. He found his attempts to be helpful only hurt. His music was too sad. His poetry too romantic. He was too much all around, "We should get out of the city for a while. The car could use a go."

They didn't talk about unfinished business anymore. They didn't talk about Val. They didn't talk about new partners. Robbie didn't seem to care that Val's lack of return meant that she had been happy and content. He should have felt heartened by it. Robbie should have been grateful that whatever world was after this one, or at least if eternal blissful rest was truly a reality, that she had it.

But all he could think about was that she was gone.

"You're right about one thing," Robbie realized it was the first he'd answered Morse in a long while, "I need to get out of the city for a while."

"Well, Lewis," The implication wasn't lost on the sharp-minded Morse. He did what he did best, pushed him, "You're a smart lad. Planning. Think five steps ahead. Follow your instincts and it will do you a world of good."

He had.

Robert Lewis with a goal was a Robert Lewis not to be stopped. His belongings got sorted, his house got listed, the proper channels were followed at work and Robert Lewis didn't stop, to feel or dwell, until he was wearing a garish tropical shirt on a white beach on St. Thomas. The spectre of Morse stood beside him, no more than a shimmer in front of a sunset worthy of one of his poems, and he complained about the heat.

"Is this far enough?" Morse finally asked.

Robbie turned his rum-soaked gaze upon the old man, looked at his overly garnished umbrella drink, and lifted it, "Ask me after another."


	4. home

"Are you for me?" 

In Robbie's most optimistic projections Lyn would have made it down to pick him up but he'd gotten a message at the last minute that she couldn't make it and so the presence of a wagging 'LEWIS' sign and a lanky blonde were a complete surprise. It didn't take more than a moment for the young man's stony expression and that particular cut of suit to brand him as a copper. Lewis hadn't been on light duty long enough not to see the clues right in front of his nose. 

"If you're Inspector Lewis, Oxfordshire Police," The man straightened and Robbie was struck by the height of him even if he looked like he might tumble away any moment like an empty crisp packet in a strong breeze. 

"I am. Never ordered a taxi, mind." 

The blonde barely quirked his lips, "Well you're in luck then, sir, because I'm not one. D.S. James Hathaway. Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent sent me." 

"That's very good of her," The flash of the warrant card was so formal that Robbie almost wanted to laugh. He must have been tired for that to be his reaction but had a feeling it wouldn't be to his great benefit to look like a nutter this early in the day. 

James said something about emailing the chief and Robbie watched the sergeant pull out a small mobile phone. As Hathaway's thumbs flew across it, Lewis felt very suddenly like his airplane had landed in another dimension. An alternate Oxford. An Oxford that had taken strange and distinct turns in his absence. It wasn't as if a cell phone was mysterious technology, but there was something daunting about James's ease that made him feel like a relic. 

You were the company you kept, and his closest friend was a ghost. What did that make him? 

"Foolish woman!" Morse's voice growled behind him and grew louder as he strolled to join them behind a scurrying flight attendant who had inadvertently run right through the center of the man's shade. 

"Mister Lewis!" She clutched a bouquet of orchids like her life depended on it, "Your flowers." 

Morse stopped, hands in pockets and poised as if he were waiting for something. He watched the attendant until the orchids were tucked safely away and then turned a discerning and keen blue eye to James. The sergeant looked suddenly torn between asking about the flowers and asking about the spirit who had joined them. 

"Ah- James, this is Morse," Robbie straightened and began their walk towards the exit. 

"The late Chief Inspector Morse?" The young man's dulcet tones seemed to raise in interest, "I'd heard you were bound but- well, we didn't know if the situation still stood." 

"SITUATION?!" Morse ejaculated. 

Robbie rubbed a hand across his tired features, "Welcome to my nightmare." 

It had taken a week in BVI for Lewis to realize that running from Oxford didn't erase his problems. It had taken a year to discover that the solution wasn't hidden in the bottom of a bottle. After several months of drying out he'd finally settled back into a familiar repartee with Morse and then gradually, day by day, the appeal of his tropical attachment began to feel a bit like a vacation that he'd overstayed. Some people were happy enough with warmth and sun and blue water but Robbie began to yearn for fog again. For rain. For bells and cobblestones. For good beer. 

He hadn't found his answers halfway across the world. He hadn't filled any of the gaping holes in his heart. He hadn't even found much respite but the getaway had, as he'd tell Laura Hobson later, helped. 

As Robbie crouched over Val's grave, a detour on their return drive, Morse and James waited like silent sentries by the car. They both bowed their heads in slouches that nearly mirrored one another as Robbie cleared the dried remnants of roses and baby's breath away and replaced them with the fresh and striking orchids. 

BVI hadn't fixed anything and couldn't reverse time but it had reminded him of what was important. 

Robbie had at least remembered where home was. 


	5. two inspectors and a sergeant

"I like him, Lewis." 

Robbie finally set his tired bones onto the sofa of the flat he'd been set up in. He hadn't a moment to breathe since he'd gotten off the plane and had spent at least one night face down on the kitchen table. Robbie had thrown himself right back into it, ignoring settling in properly by instead forcing himself upon a murder investigation, solving it in less than three days, reclaiming his Inspector's position and poaching himself a sergeant in the process. 

"That worries me," Robbie sighed and closed his eyes. Morse had been right. He knew how to lay down a plan for himself, to put himself five steps ahead, and being back in Oxford settled a few missing puzzle pieces into place. Start at the bottom. Start with a foundation. Work up from there. 

"My approval is not easily earned, you know.." Morse harrumphed importantly. He picked up a book from the meager paperback selection and dropped noiselessly into the closest chair. 

"Oh, I know," Robbie sighed again. Sergeant Hathaway reminded him a bit of Morse in a way. He'd certainly never known the Inspector when he was young but they shared some similar qualities. Hathaway didn't shy away from using his intelligence and he took almost obsessively to a puzzle. He also had a bit of cheek and even with Robbie's seeming authority, didn't shirk much from saying what he meant. 

"Not sure about the God bit though," Morse was back to looking younger, "I'll have to ask him about it." 

"Please, no," Lewis groaned. 

But talk about it they did. In fact, when not on a murder case, James and Morse talked about pretty much everything. Music to literature to strange intellectual puns that soared over his own head. When on a case, Morse was as scarce as he always had to be, but James took a whole new level of personal interest when clues or leads somehow connected back to his old governor. 

"Suppose it would be too easy to write down clues and case notes like a normal person," James growled around the cap of a pen he was chewing. 

"He says normal people are overrated," Robbie supplemented, "But I can't disagree with you, lad. Normal people are alright by me. I've got on pretty well as one." 

James gave him a smile, as if he were also pleased as punch that Robbie was who he was, normal or not, and Lewis felt for the first time something warm kick him in the gut. 

"So it can't be a partner then," Morse said later as they all sat for a pint. 

Everything was still new. James was new and Superintendent Innocent was new. The realism of training and technology was new. But for Robbie it was a good distraction from the pieces of his life that still felt full of holes. Oxford had changed since he'd been gone but now he had a whole new Oxford to discover and, he found, he rather liked having Hathaway along for the ride. 

"Hm?" Robbie looked up from his brand new cellphone which James had set up and slid across to him. He noticed only one contact had a photo and it was James in a signature smirking selfie pose and wearing sunglasses. 

_Smart arse._

"Me, leaving you be for all eternity as God intended," Morse gave James a look and the young man just smirked and glanced at Robbie, as he always did, "You've got a partner now, yet here I still sit." 

The old man, he was old again, gestured to them all. 

"We've solved several of your cases as well," James tilted his head to the former inspector, "So I'd say it's not a case either." 

"Well," Morse huffed, "I'd hardly be hanging about for _those_ trifles." 

"You know, I've been looking into it," James lifted his brows in that expectant way he had, wanting to be asked for his opinion, but also knowing he was going to tell anyway. Fortunately, Robbie found he was always worth listening to. 

"Of course, ye have.." Lewis pursed his lips. Morse smirked. James did too. Why had he ever worried that these two might not get on? 

"In some cases the spirit never leaves. In some cases it's actually true that the two souls weren't ever meant to be apart at all." 

"Oh get on with ye man!" Lewis groaned. 

"Bloody hell!" Morse barked. 

As they both burst out at the same time, James laughed and looked pleased as punch. 


	6. lies and truth

Robbie had charged for blocks, blocks out of his way, before he'd slumped against a wall and slammed his fist ineffectively against the old stones. People still walked past dressed for Pride, their smiles slipping as they gave him a wide berth, and when Morse shimmered into visibility beside him the detective growled and for the first time ever swiped a hand through the intangible mass of him. 

"Not you now! I don't want to see you either!" 

"Lewis," Morse sneered but didn't go anywhere. 

"I don't want to hear it, Morse, I really don't," And Robbie shoved off the wall and began to walk back to where his car was parked. 

When he found it he wasn't sure if he should be more infuriated or relieved that James wasn't there waiting for him. Robbie tossed himself into the driver's seat and slapped his hands on the wheel. They'd never fought like this before but James had also never lied to him either, so far as he knew. What else had he been lying about? 

James had been off for days, ever since the Will McEwan case began, and he'd noticed the signs. Whiskey in the middle of the day, no interest in the allure of a verbal puzzle, too lost in his own head to be helpful with anything. If Robbie heard the phrase 'nothing relevant to the investigation' one more time he'd have ripped his own hair out. Yet somehow he still felt completely blindsided when the truth of James' lying was outed by the murdered Will himself. 

Morse appeared in the passenger's seat with a frown, "He's young." 

"He lied to me! To me bloody face! I asked him multiple times about Will, about The Garden... About everything and he lied straight to me face!" 

"And I think he regrets that now…" Morse's head hung and he pursed his ghostly lips. 

What did any of them even know about James? This was the first he'd talked about seminary in the time they'd been together and it was only under duress. This was also the first time he'd seen him thrown into any fit of emotion that wasn't something he could cover with a deadpan or sarcastic expression. 

"How am I supposed to trust him again? I can't just lose me partner on any case that hits too close to home… Not like this. He should have just told me! What did he think I would say?" 

"You've done it before," Morse said gently, "Worked around the lies of your partner. Solved the case alone. Did you ever think you'd never trust _me_ again?" 

Robbie opened his mouth and remembered the times Morse had hid his connections to a case. When his niece had died he hadn't even told Lewis that they were related until he deemed it 'relevant' but somehow he hadn't faulted him because it was family. Even when Morse lied about women, he'd never questioned it much. He just knew that's how the old man was and it would be a far stretch to change his ways. Morse always, in the end, respected the evidence against his own feelings and Robbie always had confidence that Morse wasn't a bad man. 

And now James was lying to him and the context was muddy but it was the first time he'd ever opened up about his life or his friends. To James they were good as family and maybe more but that, it seemed, was still not his business. 

"You still trust him. You always will because he's a good lad and you know it. You're just hurt." 

Robbie barked a wry laugh, "And ya make me feel guilty for that too, eh?" 

"Not intentionally but he is right, Robbie, you don't understand what it's like not to fit in a neat little box like everyone else." 

Robbie wanted to lash at him, about how he was not being given a chance to understand. How would an old ghost have even a modicum of knowledge about what James was feeling when even he didn't? But when he turned with a rebuttal, Morse looked suddenly very young. He was younger than he'd ever seen him, even in photos. Younger than James even was. He was a slight thing with sad eyes and wisps of strawberry blonde hair and his shoulders curled like he wanted to sink into himself and it struck the words from Robbie's lips. 

"Not everyone has a good family, Lewis. Not everyone has that hard working mum and lovely gran and caring auntie and the knowledge that if nothing works out, you still have your family to fall back on. Sometimes people are so drastically different that they feel like an alien, even with their own kin," Morse looked up at him. Even his voice was different. Lewis detected a hint of accent that must have long been educated and trained out of him. 

"Then you find your people, or you think you do, and you'd do anything to be one of them," Morse seemed to age in front of his eyes then, slowly, firmer jaw, leaner lines, more posture, less accent, lines around the eyes, silvering hair, years of beer and loneliness... 

"It's paradise even if you have to change yourself a bit, because you're alright trimming old things away. Old things, you think, aren't needed anymore because you have it. You've found a place and you think if I have this one thing, everything else along the way will have been worth it," Morse snorted and looked at Robbie and he was old again and keen eyed and straight backed, "But we know, Robbie, us old men. Paradise isn't real. Nothing is perfect and we can only embrace and be true to our nature. Sometimes that journey is not so easy." 

Lewis inhaled and realized that Morse's metered steady speech had calmed him. Morse loved to hear himself talk but Robbie realized now that he had also learned to love it. When he had been a sergeant, Morse's egotistical certainty had been grounding. When cases were out of control, Morse's incessantly spinning brain was always a reassurance that they weren't lost. He had a way of engaging, even when he was off his nut or raging. He'd learned to sit and listen to Morse. 

But he was the Inspector now. He needed to do the same for James. 

"What now then?" 

"You tell me." 

"He's Feardorcha's next target," Robbie started the car and before he pulled away, took out his phone, "I make a call." 


	7. life born of fire

There was already smoke pouring from Zoe Kenneth's house when Robbie's car screeched to a stop in front of it. He was overwhelmed with worry, worried he was too late, as he screamed James's name towards the home's windows. Lewis tried not to let his heart sink when he saw the flames flickering behind the glass and instead he let the terror push him forward to charge the door with the rest of the support. 

Morse appeared beside him before flitting ahead. The shade could only go so far from Lewis but wasn't restrictive enough for him not to flash through the various rooms of the burning house until he found James cradled in the woman's arms and completely out of his gourd. 

_'Robbie, back bedroom second floor! He's been drugged.'_ Morse pressed a ghostly hand to James's forehead as he sent the mental instruction. The young man's eyelids fluttered but closed once again. 

Zoe looked at the ghostly old man, "Are you death come to meet us?" 

"Sorry, love. Not tonight," Morse said with surety and care. She was a pretty thing. What a shame all of this was. What twisted cruelty had been done to these poor young people. 

The instructions saved Robbie precious seconds. Enough time to break into the house and cut a straight line to James without distraction. They were valuable seconds that got his old bones up the stairs to heave his sergeant over his shoulder and carry him out to safety. It was enough time to get them just far enough away that they weren't blown to hell when the windows exploded outward in a rain of fire and glass. No one could have stopped Zoe's resulting death, not without a higher cost, and Robbie had a right hard time keeping his sergeant from running after her and right back into the flames. James gave up with a sob and a fit of coughing that sent him into another drug-induced swoon and the pair of them were whisked off to the hospital before there could be any argument. 

After Robbie was given a clean bill of health, he ended up staying the night. He fell asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair nowhere near a window and when he woke with a crick in his neck he had absolutely no concept of time. Morse's presence settled in next to him as if he'd just come from somewhere. The old man rested his hand on top of Lewis's own and it was so nearly tangible that he was startled, "Sir?" 

"Lewis," Morse sounded grave and he feared the worst suddenly but the old man smiled, "It's morning. He's alright. They'll probably let you in to see him shortly." 

Robbie rubbed his eyes and sighed relief. 

"But I think Lewis," Morse had that wan smile again, the one he recognized as restrained feeling, "I think it's time for me to go." 

Just like that. 

Lewis couldn't quite believe it and reality didn't even register properly until an aggressively tight knot began to throb in his chest. 

"Was this it then? You had to save James," Robbie gaped. 

"No, Robbie. That implies a level of predestination that I'm not sure I'm comfortable with," Morse chuckled, " _You_ saved James." 

"I don't understand..." Robbie was sure that had to be it. Without Morse he wouldn't have gotten there in time. They would have, at the very least, have been blown sky high on the way out. 

"Like everything, Lewis," Morse adopted that lecturing tone of his, but it was light and self aware, "it's always been about _me_. My ego demands it." 

Robbie wanted to chuckle but the look in those blue eyes was so certain. Morse also looked relieved. 

"You always needed a partner and you got one. And James is a much better copper than I ever was, really. What I needed," Morse patted Robbie's knee, "was to know you would be alright, I think. Without me." 

Lewis didn't know what to say. This was it. The end, the real end, and he was speechless. He'd been so upset when Morse had died and he hadn't been with him. Now he had a real chance to say goodbye and he found himself tongue tied. 

"Just make sure he knows, alright Lewis?" Morse nodded his head towards James's room, "Make sure he knows how important he is to you, alright? Before you wake up one day and it feels like it's too late. Don't wait until it's a whisper on your deathbed. Don't let yourself get _too_ old." 

Morse then looked like he did the very first day he'd met him. He even looked a bit sharper, in that tuxedo he'd seen him in Anne Staveley's house in Canal Reach, as if he were going to greet the afterlife as he would attend one of his operas, "I can say it myself finally, I suppose. Thank you, Robbie, for everything." 

And then he was simply gone. 

Robbie felt his eyes burning and his fingers twitched for the grip that was now gone but before he could let a single tear fall, a nurse was peeking her head out from behind an archway. 

"Mr. Lewis? You can come in now." 


	8. all souls

When a living thing died, when it slipped from the mortal coil, when it passed on, that being could on a rare occasion remain behind in spirit. The soul lingered and bound to someone close with only the knowledge that there was something unresolved hanging between them. Whenever that business concluded, the soul would finally move on - to where, no one really knew.

Robert Lewis found, after that fateful day at Zoe Kenneth's house, that he had genuinely found peace with Inspector Morse. He'd stood beside his sergeant's hospital bed and realized just how worried he'd been and just how right Morse was. Lewis wiped his eyes hurriedly, as if the brimming tears weren't there, and when James looked up he could see the affection and surprise, as if no one had treated him this way before, and that smile hit him once again with something warm and powerful. Robbie discovered a few truths of his own and could only be grateful for Morse's passing words and the time spent between them.

"You saved me," James looked surprised, as if he wouldn't have done the same, or as if he didn't expect Robbie would.

"Don't be melodramatic.." Lewis scrubbed his watery eyes a final time. He glanced at the empty visitor's chair and then James before he finally sat down.

James watched him, still smiling, but saying nothing. When Robbie noticed the silence, he lifted his brows and James seemed to pull words from thin air, "Morse?"

"Ah.." Robbie looked at James's long thin hand and finally took the fingers in his own. He knew he wasn't the overly affectionate type and they'd had a screaming match the last time they spoke but it felt right and he wanted to offer comfort. It helped to touch him, to know he was here and alright, "He's gone lad."

The sergeant blinked in light surprise at their touching hands but curled his fingers around Robbie's gratefully and put his head back, "I thought he might be. He was in here to see me. Before you," James's brow screwed up slightly, "He thanked me."

"For what, lad?"

James had shrugged and pursed his lips. His fingers squeezed around Robbie's as he replied, "I don't know exactly."

Typical Morse to leave puzzles in his wake.

Robbie took his advice to heart and while he sometimes felt an emptiness there in his mind where the old detective used to be, his passing meant that Lewis was able to give much more of himself to James and to this partnership than he had before. It wasn't always easy and they butted heads over the years, but that fight, that moment of danger, had been a turning point.

And then their partnership was friendship and then, Robbie realized very abruptly, it was love. James stayed up all night to piece together obscure puzzles just for him. James had found him Val's killer. Robbie himself had dealt with Mortmaigne. James was with him through becoming a grandfather and he was there for James when dealing with his own ailing father. And when Robbie finally felt it, something in him that he had to say else he'd burst, he remembered what Morse had told him.

_Make sure he knows how important he is to you, alright? Before you wake up one day and it feels like it's too late._

Maybe the old man had known all along.

***

There were intense calculations and measurements and theories that went into the ghost business. As much as the experts didn't know, there was a great deal they did. For instance, there were certain days that the veil between worlds was weak. There were hours of the night when more souls came back or were bound. There were sensitive locations and sensitive people and all manner of minutiae that could affect the creation of a bond or the return of a wayward soul.

There were also very particular and rare days when all souls could return, just for a visit. It was, of course, once in a ridiculous span of years and it was the witching hour and only on All Souls Day. Robbie was sure there was a moon in alignment and ley lines in congress and liminal whatnots in perfect coalescence or some other bunch of nonsense that he didn't quite grasp but everyone was getting ready. It was on the news and in the paper and some people were throwing huge parties, while others feared the ghosts of their pasts and were locking themselves in to have nothing to do with it.

Hathaway and Lewis were preparing.

"We just need to light a candle, James," Robbie sighed at his fussing young man. They had their own house now. He was retired, really retired, and James was well set in his Inspector's position. "A single candle in the window, a real candle, and our loved ones will know they are welcome."

"For Day of the Dead they leave things. Favorite candies, food," James was handling the candle in question, though they didn't need to light until much later, "A trinket to please the deceased. If only I could have gotten some marigolds.."

"You know Morse is never pleased," Robbie laughed, "But let's see what you've got together."

Out on the stoop sat a bottle of bitter, a small model jaguar, and an orchid.

Robbie felt the familiar burn behind his eyes and James pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I thought.."

"For Val," Lewis smiled, "It's perfect."

"Laura should be coming by soon," James checked his phone for the time, "She's got an aunty she wants us to meet and she said something about that old pathologist?"

"Ha! Doctor Debryn," Robbie shook his head, "I'll be right back to me sergeant days. Feeling like everyone's talking over me with all the eggheads about."

James tangled his fingers with the older man and tugged him back inside, "I can finally ask Inspector Morse why he thanked me."

"Ya haven't figured that out, lad?" Robbie felt confident, knowing something the other didn't for once.

He lifted James's hand and kissed the back of it, "For taking care of me."


End file.
